


Messenger Bird

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Torture, Letters, M/M, Messenger Birds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 16:07:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10880277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Loki has been imprisoned again in Asgard, no visitors allowed but his brother. Tony hears about this through the grapevine and decides to shoot ol' Reindeer Games a letter, just to rub it in a little. To his surprise, Loki actually writes back, just as biting and acidic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi yall just thought i'd put this out here

**Chapter 1: The Message**

As before, the cell is beautifully decorated; a gilded cage for a princely raven. It’s bright—too bright, too warm—and Loki could not stand the softness of the bed so he instead sat on the floor.

Just like before.

In stark contrast, he left the furniture pristine. In place. A calm certainty to everything that he did not feel. It was just like last time.

No glass on the floor, but he still bled.

No roaring in his head, but he still screamed.

– – –

“What mischief have you planned, brother?” When had Thor arrived? Perhaps he burned so brightly that the illumination of the room hid him like a thief slinking in shadows.

Thor hiding in light.

“No mischief,” he said, a placid mask on.

“You’ve always some mischief in your clever mind,” Thor groused, but there was a smile,  _a smile_ , how could he still manage to do that after all he’d seen? After all his brother had done?

“Not as of yet,” he responded, shaking his head to empty it. Loki pressed his thumb to his mouth and tugged the nail, a startling gesture that reminded Thor of the boy his brother once was.

“ _Come play with me, big brother!” How was he supposed to resist those pleading doe eyes?_

“ _I’ve studies,” he said shortly, hoping to drive Loki away, but—oh no—there was the pout._

“ _Studies are dumb. I’m more important,” the boy sulked, and Thor couldn’t argue with that point; his baby brother was small, a little black bird to be protected, because Asgard could be a harsh place for men like Loki. Baby Loki, who needed his brother; baby Loki, who still suckled his thumb._

“ _Am I to correctly assume that your playing would involve some sort of magical attacks on my person?” Thor intoned, solemn and polite, as if he were speaking to his father._

_Loki’s impish eyes widened and he giggled around his thumb. “No!” he cried, “Hide-and-go-Seek!”_

“ _You should not do that, little brother,” Thor reminded him, tugging the offending digit out and placing a hand on his brother’s sleek head. How could such short hair also look so windswept? It gave their mother a fit to style. “But fine, Little Loki, let us go play.”_

_He would be punished for abandoning his studies, and surely Loki had some scheme to set him on fire, but it was all worth it to hear his jubilant whoop._

“Thunderer,” Loki’s soft voice cut in, and Thor blinked from his reverie. “What dream claimed you?”

“A good one, Little Loki.” Loki’s face twisted minutely at that—an old nickname from centuries past, a reminder of times when his pranks resulted in laughter and slapped wrists, not war and blood and death.

But Thor was smiling again, damn it all, an affectionate tilt to his lips that spurred a flash of red hot anger— _how dare he still be fond of me, how dare he want to help!_

“Did you come for a reason, brother, or did you simply wish to stare at me?”

Thor pulled something small from his pocket and held it up for Loki’s examination—a small, folded piece of paper. “A letter, for you,” he rumbled, and reached to tuck it into Loki’s hand.

“ **Do not touch me!** ” It was like an explosion, a volcano of repressed memories and pent up emotions erupting—

_Because they were holding him and slicing into him and he could not pull away, the chain too tight, cutting off circulation._

“ _You will scream,” a voice promised, but Loki laughed and spat and smelled his own shit pouring from his torn belly._

“ _I am a god! **I am a god, and I shall not scream!”**  High and wild and there was more laughter to join his._

_Hours and weeks and days were all jumbled and Loki could no longer speak—he needed a tongue to speak—but he could still cackle._

_Moments and seconds and minutes, and he no longer struggled—he needed limbs to struggle—but he kept his silence._

_It wasn’t until his head was yanked back and a red hot poker pressed to his eyes that he was finally made a liar of._

Thor jerked back, stunned and perhaps a little terrified to see his Little Loki’s dull green eyes flashing with such agony.

Eyes like dying grass, wilted and long left without care.

“I… shall leave you be, brother.” With one last dismayed glance, Thor was gone, cloaking his vibrancy in light again, leaving Loki to shake and weep and plead in his mind for peace.

And death.

Loki held his pounding head in unsteady hands and wished for Hel’s sweet touch.

When he finally composed himself and gathered the shattered fragments of his sanity to bind around him like armor, he noticed the note on the floor. He slid his hand towards it, cautious, wary of anything from a magical attack to a papercut.

He touched it, the barest brushing of fingers, and when no pain came, he grasped it more firmly. It was folded hastily, and bore smudged fingerprints in what looked like tar or grease. Strange blue lines ran across it, like the parchment a child would use to steady their letters. Loki opened it slowly, fingers trembling, unsure of what to expect.

_ Hey, Reindeer Games. Heard you’re unpopular there, too. Try not to miss Earth too much.—Stark _

The handwriting was atrocious _—_ it took Loki far too long to parse out the message, and Stark’s ink color of choice (poison green) was downright offensive. Despite all that, Loki’s lips bent into something that could almost be called a smile.

Standing in the brightness was overwhelming; Loki was loathe to expose his back, even when alone, so he shuffled as quickly as his numb feet would allow to the small writing desk. He collected his necessary utensils and returned to his slouching position against the wall, back safe to the wall once more.

Loki traced over the words with the tips of his fingers as he puzzled about what to write _—_ should he even reply? But a small, tingling desire niggled him. It felt like his old friend, Mischief. The kind of Mischief that would lead to Stark’s pondering and cursing and frustration… not to falling, falling, falling death.

_ As witty as ever, Stark. I rather think they are more fond of me here, then your ‘companies’ are fond of you there. Behave, Iron Man—I shall be watching. _

And now to wait for his brother to return with dinner. Loki hoped he would not stay long _—_ the guilt burning in Thor’s shuttered eyes felt like his fault. Maybe it was. It didn’t matter anymore.

In the hours waiting, Loki fell into an uneasy slumber. He suffered the usual dreams of pain and torture and insane laughter littered like dust with long banging and broken cries.

Thor, wiser now of his brother’s condition, did not approach Loki as he entered the cell, but sat the tray down on the desk with a loud  _clap!_

The sound startled Loki, and eyes flew open. They darted around his confines, unfocused and wild, but he seemed more in control of himself than that morning—more grounded. He still slumped against the wall, still refused shoes and all but the most basic of clothing; but Loki looked closer to the little brother that Thor knew and loved than he had in years.

“I have a reply,” Loki murmured, chest heaving from his nightmare. Thor frowned, and Loki found he preferred that. The twist of his lips felt better than forced affection for a part of him dead and rotted. Loki tossed the pressed square of parchment to Thor, the royal family’s wax crest landing facing up.

Confused, Thor bent and grabbed it, turning it in his large hands.

“What threats does this contain?” Thor rumbled, hurt.

“No threats. Merely a response.” Loki tilted his head back down, ignoring the tantalizing smells wafting over from the tray. “Take that back,” he whispered brokenly. “Take it away. I only want broth and bread, you know this.”

“You need to eat more, brother _—_ and it is not bad to indulge yourself.” Thor attempted to reason, but what did the Mighty Thor know of suffering? What did the Crown Prince know worthlessness? Of being less than?

Loki did not respond; he just huddled in on himself, a small tight ball to keep his belly protected. He did not deserve good, wholesome things.

– – –

He passed his days eating thin soups and hard loafs, thinking and screaming and waiting for a letter that would probably never come. To his surprise, one week later, his bowl of soup came with a paper tucked up under the bowl. The response was both innocuous and much longed for.

_ Yeah, yeah, very funny. Not sure how you intend to keep an eye on me without being able to talk to your creepy all-seeing stalker in the sky, but you’re welcome to give it a shot. Hey, give me some heads up and I might even put on a show for you.—Stark _

As before, the letter was somewhat stained and the penmanship was barely legible, but Loki still devoured it, reading the words over and over until they jumbled in his head.

_ As if I had any desire to see your pasty ass, Stark.—Loki, Conqueror of Midgard, Prince of Asgard, Maker of Magic & Mischief, Grand Consultant of the Council _

He paused for a moment, then added a postscript before leaving his response on the empty tray.

_ Also, do learn to write as an adult. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Caught on a Breeze**

He slept with the lights on.

The darkness suffocated him; wrapped around him like a python, squeezing until there was nothing left but the blazing memory of empty space and certain death and being watched.

So Tony slept with the lights on, slept like shit.

Just another box to tick in his long list of,  _what did Bruce call them again? Triggers?_

Things that set him of like a ‘Nam vet at a fireworks show.

(According to Steve, who gave him the disappointed dad-glare, that was an offensive thing to say. He’s Tony fucking Stark, he’ll say what he wants to say.)

So when someone knocked on his bedroom door at two in the morning, he wanted to scream in frustration, because he finally got to sleep, finally dreamed of something other than black nothingness—and this dick  **pounds**  on his fucking door.

“Tony Stark?” Thor? Why the fuck was Thor here, bothering him?  _Go away, Thor._

Maybe he said that out loud, because Thor continued, “I come with a message from my brother. Do you want me to leave?”

Tony wasn’t sure if he knew the answer to that, so he laid down and said nothing.

There was a great sigh, and a slip of paper was pushed under his door. He stared at it. He was tired and pissed, and he didn’t want to deal with anyone… But this wasn’t anyone—this was Loki, who snarked at him, Loki, who was probably only writing out of boredom, but gave him something to look forward to that wasn’t alcohol or nightmares or faked sympathy.

He slid out of bed and reached for the note.

\- - -

_Pasty?_

**_Pasty?!_ **

Tony scowled down at the elegant, loopy scrawl. His ass, so glorious there should shrines built to it, was not pasty—he took ample advantage of a private sun roof; there was not a  _pasty_  inch on his body!

As for his writing, well, he used electronics, not archaic dead trees. Asshole.

Tony dug around his closet for another piece of paper, knocking crap over left and right, before he managed to find an old stack of letter paper. It was dusty, and the allergens made him sneeze. Why did he even have paper with a Stark Industries letter head? He squinted at it. Old one, too—that particular logo hadn’t been used in, like, 15 years. Why was that here?  _Damn Pepper and her hoarding…_

Just to further be a dick, he grabbed an old pen Pepper had left—a sparkling hot pink monstrosity that burned the retinas of whoever was unlucky enough to gaze upon it.

_Medusa pen!_

\- - -

_That’s pretty rich coming from you, Mr. Lilywhite. I’ll have you know my ass is a national treasure. And what the hell? Your freaking titles were longer then your message, asshole. Besides, I don’t remember you conquering New York, much less Earth. Maybe next time, champ. How’s prison working out for you, anyhow? Dropped the soap yet?—Anthony Edward Stark, Iron Man, Avenger Extraordinaire, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist, 5 times ‘Most Eligible Bachelor’, Time Magazine’s ‘Man of the Year’, retired CEO of Stark Industries_

_(Yeah, I can list a bunch of fancy bullshit, too)_

\- - -

“Hey, Thor! Fancy seeing you here, Thunder Thighs!” Tony saddled up to Thor, smooth as a snake oil salesman. Thor, for his part, looked bemused.

“I was not aware that I was no longer welcome in the Avengers’ Tower, friend,” Thor smiled, smacking Tony on the shoulder with enough force to send the man reeling.

“Nope,” he gasped, wind knocked from his chest, “No, uh, of course you can stay here. You’re an Avenger, right? Not a pod person?”

“I do not believe so, Tony Stark.”

“You better tell me if you ever become one. I have a thing with pod people. And cyborgs,” Tony muttered, his train of thought derailing somewhat, “Fucking cyborgs.”

“Of course,” Thor was indulging him, Tony knew it, but he didn’t know the reason—Thor had a millennia of experience listening to excited, half-mad rants from a little child. “Do you require anything?”

Tony blinked, snapped from his mumbling. “Huh? Wha—oh, yeah, right. Got a letter for your bro. How’s ol’ crazy doing?”

Thor accepted the letter, but an odd stony expression flickered across his face. His eyes bored like drills in Tony’s, who shuffled slightly from foot to foot under the scrutiny. “Loki,” Thor said at long last, clenching the letter tightly, “is unwell. He speaks to demons that are not there. He cries for his organs to be returned. He refuses to eat more then will only just sustain him. He is withering. So if this,” here Thor held the crumpled paper up like a poisonous snake, “is your idea of a joke, play it at another’s expense.”

Tony felt a twinge of guilt low in his stomach—it had been so long since he ever experienced anything like it that he was convinced for a moment it was just gas, but no. Guilt was sitting hot and heavy in his belly like a stone. Sure, his first letter was somewhat dickish, but Loki responded in kind, so maybe…

He gulped. “It’s not, Thor. It’s just… I dunno,” he rubbed the back of neck awkwardly. He was used to the shovel talk, but never paid much attention before. He was Tony Stark, what could they possibly do to him? But Thor was a huge viking capable of summoning storms and crushing a man’s head with his hands, so yeah—Tony was a bit more wary. “You don’t hafta give it to him if you don’t want, big guy,” he offered.

Thor tucked away the paper and smiled like the sun breaking through clouds. “I will deliver it as soon as I return to Asgard. I am glad we had this discussion.” After delivering another back breaking clap on the shoulder, Thor left to demolish the kitchen’s stores.

_What the hell just happened?_

\- - -

_ That is an absolutely perfect comparison, Stark, thank you. My skin is lovely and pale, much like your Midgardian lilies. As for your posterior, well… when one has lived for a millennia, there are many wonderful delicacies they find to sample, and one little mortal’s rear is not one of them. But I am certainly benevolent, and I shall pander to the village idiot, however unattractive his backside may be. (And before you even say—of course I am pandering to you, fool. Why else would I waste my time with your drivel?) As for Midgard, I found it so terribly boring that I lost all will to fight. Honestly, how do you mortals stand it? No wonder you are so short lived, any longer and you all would be driven mad. _

_ ‘Dropped the soap’? Why are you so interested in my bathing habits? I do not court mortals, Stark.—Loki _

_ (Is this letter long enough for you, annoying little man? If not, I shall be reduced to minute-by-minute retellings of my fascinating life in prison. And do not use that disgusting ink again; it bled over my desk, which is now glittering something most foul.) _

Well, that was just too much bullshit to even address.

Nevertheless, Tony read neatly between the lines. Huh, high and mighty god of mischief was bored? Nothing to do but sleep, eat, and have nightmares. Yeah… Tony knew a little something about that.

A wicked thought struck him:  _Bathing habits, eh? Might have something laying around for that…_

– – –

It was a parcel.

Loki prowled around it, never exposing his back to the box.

What trickery was this?

Was it dangerous? Surely not—what could the mortal have possibly put in there that could injure him? Loki narrowed his eyes. Tony Stark was Midgardian, true… but he was also a creator of weaponry that even a god could feel the sting of.

The burnt red-and-gold package glimmered under the light. A shiny new toy he wasn’t fool enough to open. Or maybe he was—a little spark of curiosity flared in him. Gingerly, he plucked at the wrapping, taking care not to unduly jostle the package, lest it…

 _What? Explode?_  Loki scowled at his own paranoia.

Still… Perhaps it would be safer to start with the card attached.

_Pandering, huh? I’ll keep that in mind, princess. Anyway, I’m the one who’s pandering, considering I’m the one with, you know, a life. Do you have any idea how hard being a hero is? Women constantly throwing themselves at me. The fame and praise. It’s tough, Rudolph. All you have to do is sit in a cell and be pretty for your prison husband. I have to do actual work, not just sell my (fabulous) ass.- Tony_

_(P.S.: This was some seriously expensive shit—so don’t give me the whole “Wah, it’s not good enough for a ~~prince~~  princess,” deal, got it?)_

The wrapping fell away like water under his prying fingers and Loki pulled off the lid to peer inside. He blinked. A bottle?

French Lily Body Gel, it proclaimed. _Soap? What gall!_

_Honestly, Stark? Again with my bathing habits? As I said before, I do not court mortals. Though, given what I have heard of your personal courting rituals, I must admit that I’m surprised you did not send soiled smallclothes. Yes, I’m sure living in the constant wave of adulation is so difficult for your poor ego, how do you even manage?—Loki_

_(Must you continuously mention your ass? Stop it.)_

\- - -

He tried to read, but no books provided held his interest.

He tried to sleep, but it felt like  _they_  could see him, peer at him though his dreams. When he awoke from those nightmares, panting and half-crazed, he scrapped his nails down his arms and bit his tongue and banged his head on the wall to remind himself that that pain was real, to chase away the lingering agony.

That was Thor how found him, weeping, shaking, blood dripping from his mouth and hairline. He wanted to say something, Loki could tell, wanted to  _comfort_  him. “You should lay on the bed, Little Loki,” Thor boomed (or so it seemed to Loki, whose head was spinning and stomach was churning and had Thor always been to incandescent?).

_Perfect prince. Golden child._

Worry was etched on every line of Thor’s face. “I have another letter,” he said, quieter, perhaps minding Loki’s wince at his previous tone. Loki dragged his eyes upwards to the envelope in Thor’s hand. The sight of it seemed to clear his mind, steady his thoughts; this was  _normal_ , yes.

Stark, who challenged him.

Stark, who did not pity him.

“Leave it on the ground,” he whispered, turning his face away from Thor’s brilliance. He only seemed to make this damned room brighter, as if Loki did not have enough trouble sleeping without that glaring, harsh light illuminating his own incompetence.

Thor did not leave immediately. He pulled the desk chair over and sat across from Loki, speaking of anything and everything—the Avengers, the Warriors Three, their mother (“Who intends to visit soon, Loki. Be better for her.”), and whatever else mindless drivel he could pour forth. Loki paid not a single bit of attention, focusing solely on the envelope resting on the ground next to Thor’s massive boot.

After an hour, Thor, with a heavy sigh and angry glance downward, finally left.

It had been two weeks since the last correspondence had arrived. Loki was unsure of what to make of the sudden change—whereas before the letter were folded and creased and crumpled, this was tucked safely into a garish pink envelope. Curious, he undid the seam. What he pulled out was monstrous beyond all compare; covered,  _covered!,_  in glitter, there was a single sentence, outlined in a red and gold sparkled heart:

_Loki, it’s Valentine’s Day, and I’d be your prison husband!—Tony_

Loki did not dignify that with a response.

– – –

Tony cursed his fucking luck. An emergency conference meeting he could handle—well, not handle, but easily blow off—but one set in freaking Beijing wasn’t something he could ignore. Stark Industries needed this deal to be pushed through, and Tony (despite what some people liked to insinuate in gossip rags) truly cared about the future his company and legacy. With Beijing on board, he’d be able to start spreading his clean, renewable arc reactor powered energy source even more, leading by example. By Tony’s calculations, he could have the city switched over in less then five years, and that… that was exciting.

But he was going to be gone for the better part of a month.

Oh, and he only just found out about this super important meeting thirty minutes ago, when his plane leaves in an hour. Jesus fucking Christ, he’s going to  _kill_  his new PA. Scrambling, he grabbed a pen and paper and jotted down a quick letter for Loki.

 _Why is that so important,_  a voice whispered in the back of his head,  _why do you care?_

 _Because_ , another responded, dark and gleeful,  _Thor said Loki was completely ignoring him for your letter._

– – –

_ I know my writing is  ~~sit~~  shit right now but I don’t have much time. Gotta leave for a meeting soon, but I’m going to be out of the country for a month. Won’t be able to get or send any letters. But just in case the heartbreak of my absence is too much for the fair princess, I’ve sprayed this down with some of my cologne. Not as good for sniffing as, say, my dirty undies (as you basically put it in your last letter), but you’ll just have to make do.—Tony _

_ (P.S.: What, didn’t like your Valentine’s card? Be good and maybe next year I’ll send you one of those godawful chocolate mystery heart boxes.) _

_ (P.S.S.: You brought up my ass first.) _

Loki knew it was a joke, he did. He knew Stark was just being his usual vexatious self, but… Loki pressed his face into the scented letter, breathing deep and savoring the aroma of musk and wilderness and  _male_. This is what Stark smelled of? Loki wondered if he would taste just as delectable.

That night (as if he could tell, the room never got any darker, never gave him any reprieve; he had to check the clock constantly) when he tucked his hand into his arms and slept, he dreamed not of torture, but of a stirring scent caught on a high breeze and a whiskey shot voice, defiant and proud.  _We have a Hulk._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Message in a Bottle**

“I have a message, Thor.”

Thor glanced sharply at Loki, but said nothing. Instead, he walked to the other end of the cell and laid down a tray stacked high with meats, fruits, vegetables, and several mugs of frothy beer. Loki wrinkled his nose at the smells assaulting him.

“Thor,” he repeated, holding up his note between the nails of two fingers, leaving plenty of room for Thor to grasp it without touching his hand. Thor knelt in front of Loki and accepted the folded paper. He held it up to his eyes and examined it, as if it held the answers to his most burning questions.

“I thought that allowing this correspondence would be healthy for you, Little Loki. I am greatly worried I might be wrong. You are not getting any stronger. You still weep and tremble.”

“Thor…”

“No, Loki. You only seem to be drawing further into yourself… except when you are reading or writing those letters. Then you seem more the Trickster than my Little Loki.” Thor neatly ripped the letter in halves, then fourths, letting the remains fall to the ground like snow. Quick as lightning, Thor snatched Loki by the wrist and hauled him upright, paying no heed to Loki’s struggling.

“Silence, brother. What I do, I do to help heal you.”

Loki shrieked, caught in the terrible burning of his nightmares, straining and fighting the arms—both real, and imaginary. His brother tossed him upon the bed and easily restrained him with a hand pressed to his chest.

Taking a piece of savory meat between his fingers, Thor shoved it into Loki’s mouth and clamped a strong hand over his brother’s mouth so he could not spit it out.

_He could taste the meat, searing, scalding on his tongue. His own burned tongue, he could taste his own tongue and the voice laughed and said, “Swallow, Loki—swallow, little god!”_

_There were hands grabbing him everywhere it seemed, pulling and tearing his flesh and his intestines coiled out like red slimy snakes and he could feel his eyeballs boiling from the hot poker, could feel the juice running down his face._

_“Mother! Father! Thor!” he wailed and wailed until he had no tongue, then begged in his head and his heart but no one answered._

“Loki, just swallow!” Thor roared, ignoring his brother’s muffled sobs. Loki only had clear broth and over kneaded bread for nourishment these past months in prison and as too weak to fight off his older brother’s powerful arms. He was a boy again—a boy struggling against a man.

Loki’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as the juice from the meat slid down his throat. He vomited, only bile and stomach acid, but it had no where to go; he heaved and heaved until it spurted, burning, out of his nostrils, mixing with his tears.

“You make this harder than it has to be, Loki. Just swallow!” Thor pleaded.

Loki could not breathe. He was choking on his own puke and saliva, and his struggling was futile. Compulsively, he swallowed and felt the burned piece of his own tongue—no, meat, it was just some dead flesh, not a part of him. Not him.

“Good, brother!” Thor enthused and motioned towards the plate. “We must build your strength back. Do not fear, there is much left to eat.” Taking a napkin in hand, Thor lovingly wiped away the snot/tear/vomit mixture from his brother’s cheeks and neck.

“This will go easier if you do not struggle, Little Loki. Let me help you.”

—

Two months.

Eight weeks.

64 days, to be precise.

No letter from Loki.

No response.

No nothing.

It stung more than Tony was willing to admit.

—

His brother visited everyday, shoving food into his mouth until he regurgitated, than, with a disappointed look as if Loki was retching on purpose, did it again.

Day after day.

The room seemed brighter than ever.

The rich food was wreaking havoc on Loki’s digestive system—he suffered severe stomach cramps and watery bowels, until it seemed he could expel nothing but tar-black blood.

Thor was killing him with love.

—

Stark visited—or, Loki was somewhat sure he did. He could smell Stark’s scent, but when he tried to speak the man just shook his head.

 _“We have a Hulk,”_  he said boldly,  _“We have a Hulk.”_

“Save me,” Loki whispered, ragged and broken. “Write me. Anything.”

_“Drop the glow stick, Reindeer Games.”_

And Loki cackled to see that he was holding a dinner knife in his hands. He tossed it down and away, but Tony Stark still flickered away in the light.

“But I dropped it!” Loki howled, “Stark, I dropped it!”

—

His mother visited, but he was not sure it was her. If she was even real. Maybe everyone as dead but him… and Thor.

“I can help you,” she said, warmly… afraid. Why should his own vision be afraid of him? Loki cradled his head in his hands.

“You trial is approaching, my son. You cannot appear as such before your father.” She touched his cheek and Loki almost screamed.

_Don’t touch me!_

_Please touch me._

_You’re not real!_

_Touch me and prove it._

_Don’t touch me!_

Frigga saw the war in her son’s head and moved her hand to cover his—safer than his face, but still grounding him, still comforting. Loki raised his dulled eyes to hers.

“I have spoken with Heimdall. You… had correspondence with a mortal, correct?”

Unbidden, Loki’s gaze flickered to the letters hidden under his mattress, safe from Thor’s wrath. He read them, devoured them, every hour of every day and reminded himself that someone did not think he was worthless. Someone accepted his flaws and mistakes. Someone laughed at him without scorn.  _With? Laughed with? Yes._

Frigga squeezed his hand ever-so-slightly, not wanting to spook her skittish son. Her broken son. “I can help you. Your brother will no longer carry your messages, but I know something that can.”

Loki squeezed her hand back.

—

Tony was moving into a previous unknown level of paranoia. No letters from Loki—which wasn’t unexpected, because there was no sign of Thor. He left for Asgard carrying Tony’s last note and never returned.

Fury was climbing the walls.

It would’ve been funny, should’ve been funny, but all Tony could think was that something was Very Wrong. He wanted to pull his hair out because he hated not having answers, hated  _not knowing._

And then Thor came back, and it was like a dam burst in his chest.

“Thor!” Tony accosted Thor as he was rummaging in the kitchen, a whole loaf of bread in one hand and a PopTart in the other. “Thor, is there a letter for me?” He tried not to sound like an excited schoolboy, but failed pretty miserably.

Thor gave him not a letter, but a tender, pitying look. “No, my friend. I do not believe it would be wise to allow this to continue.”

Tony felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

“My brother is a Trickster, Tony Stark. I fear… I fear, in his illness, he might attempt to enamor you to an illusion. When my brother has returned to his former state, I will gladly take you to visit him; I believe the both of you would be fast friends. He needs more friends…” Thor trailed off with a bitter sigh.

“Uh, if he needs friends, then  _let me write to him_.”

“Tony Stark, it is not  **your**  intentions I do not trust. It is his. He seems to long for your letter far too much, ignores even me in favor of them, and I fear you are caught in the midst of some great prank.”

_A prank?_

_Wait… is Thor jealous of me?_

Thor clasped a great hand around Tony’s neck and offered him a brilliant smile. “It pleases me, truly, that you wish to help my brother. But do not fear, I am making great strides in healing him—he is eating heartily and even takes to bed on occasion, instead of huddling against the wall like a rat.”

Tony didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what Thor wanted him to say, so he just gave his best media neutral smile and hummed noncommittally.

—

“It is a special thing, my son,” Frigga murmured, holding up two little twittering birds for Loki to examine. “Give a letter to one, and it shall appear in the other’s message pouch. They used to fly the letters to the other, but I have made some… modifications. They need not eat or sleep; the birds are little more than a magical bottle for your message, but,” She smiled at her son, a tender, motherly thing, “I rather thought you would enjoy the company.”

Loki’s face remained blank, but his eyes had an intensity in them she had not seen since her son arrived in chains. “And Thor?”

“I will keep him at bay, Loki. He is needed on Midgard—I will remind him of that. But,” Frigga raised a finger in warning, then gently trailed it on his cheek. Loki even managed not to flinch this time. “You must take care of yourself. You must eat.”

Loki reached out and offered a finger for the tiny bird to hop onto. It did so cheerful, chirping an old lullaby from his childhood. “No meat,” he finally said, as if speaking to the bird.

“No meat,” Frigga agreed, “Then milk and cheese.”

“I will try, mother.”

“That’s all I ask of you, Loki. Now, I must away to deliver the other to your mortal friend.”

—

Loki named the little bird Eira—‘merciful’.

—

Tony was used to having women show up in his bedroom as if by magic—not so much appearing with  _actual magic_  in the middle of the night.

“Jesus fucking—what—” Bizarrely, he yanked his covers up to his chin as if they would shield him from the woman who just teleported into his bedroom.

“I am Frigga, mother to Thor and Loki,” she introduced as she turned to face Tony, blue smoke rising in wisps off her elegant shoulders. “I come bearing a gift.”

It is a testament to Tony Stark’s nature that his first thought wasn’t ‘ _golly-gee whiskers! It’s the queen of Asgard!_ ’ but rather:  _Thor’s going to kill me if he finds his mom in my room._

Hastily, he scampered out of bed and wrapped the sheet firmly around his torso—there was a slightly less chance of imminent death if he wasn’t completely naked, right?

“Sorry, I’m, uh-” Frigga silenced him with a  _look._

“I have a means that will allow you to communicate with my son, Anthony Stark.”

“Loki?” Tony said quickly, latching onto the subject. “Is he alright?” He was not worried, dammit, he was  _not_. Tony was just a little…

Okay, he was a little worried.

Frigga looked inexplicably pleased with that—her tensed shoulders relaxed and she allowed herself a small, tinkling laugh. “You have had an effect on him,” she answered, smiling. “Before Thor took Loki under his care, my younger son was not as conflicted as he had been.”

Tony frowned. “Before Thor? What does that mean?”

Frigga cleared her throat and held out her hand. Inside, a small bird with luxurious ruby red feathers preened and fluffed its wings.

“Uh, that’s nice, ma’am, but I don’t want a pet.”

“Tis no pet.” Slowly, as though speaking to a child, she explained the little messenger bird’s purpose. It was… fairly simple, really. Just take the paper in the pouch out, write something, and put it back in—boom, texting, Asgardian style. Huh.

—

Loki waited.

In the heavy brightness, he anticipated, he hungered, he longed.

Hours passed—perhaps days.

Perhaps minutes.

Then, with startling suddenness, Eira shifted from her settled position on Loki’s knee and pecked her pouch. Hands trembling, he unfurled the paper.

_ Loki? Does this thing even work? Cause I’m going to feel really stupid if it doesn’t. _

A thread of victory curled in Loki’s belly—something he had not experienced in decades.

_ Stark, never fear—you are perpetually stupid. _

—

_ Nice of your mom to drop in at freaking midnight. _

Loki frowned. Had she? It was midnight? Or perhaps Midgardian time ran differently. He had never cared to learn before.

_ If you say one thing about seducing my mother, you filthy mortal, I will end you myself. _

—

_ What, she got a thing for sexy billionaires? Or is that just you? _

That mortal man was going to die, Loki decided. It would certainly cheer him up—Stark, well, not so much.

_ But, seriously, Loki… _

_ It’s good to hear from you. _

Stark missed him? Perhaps he earned himself an extra few hours of life. Without realizing, Loki began to smile down at the letter—it was a weak, fragile thing, but more than any he these past  _(years? weeks? months?)_  without Stark’s wit. Granted, Stark did not know what a pitiful wretch he had become, but… it was good to be missed. Feeling somewhat renewed, Loki popped a piece of cheese into his mouth and began to write back in earnest.

_ You are a bigger fool than I previously thought, Stark. Even now I am plotting the overthrow of your world. _

—

_ Let me have a go at Fury and you’ve got a deal. _

That surprised a laugh out of Loki, his first since Before. Before the pain and torture and misguided vengeance lust. He laughed long and hard—no longer about Stark’s quip, but about everything that had occurred the past year. Loki laughed to stop himself from weeping, though tears of mirth slid down his face like rain. He laughed from deep in his belly, until there was nothing left—until he was tired and content, until the smile was firmly held in place.

_ I will consider your offer, Stark. Until then, I take my leave. _

—

_ Sleep tight princess, try not to dream of me. _

—

_ Of course, I do not want nightmares. _

But Loki was left with a daunting choice—bed, or wall? He hesitated, chewing his lip, until he came to a compromise—he leaned against the bed and wrapped the blankets around himself to block out the light.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Heart to Heart**

Tony did his best not to feel like a teenaged girl with a crush, but his heart leapt every time the Ruby pecked at her pouch. His messages were answered almost immediately—which wasn’t strange, it’s not like Loki had anything better to do in prison—no, what was strange was Tony’s reaction to write back just as quickly.

He pretended that it was  _obligation_ , he was  _required to_. Truth was… he wanted to. Unfortunately, he couldn’t always send ‘texts’ back as soon as possible, not with the Avengers and Pepper and Stark Industries.

Tony sighed and carded his fingers through his hair. He eyed the pouch Ruby wore proudly—he was itching to know how it worked. Did it only effect the paper? Could he send other things via the pouch?

_ I want to try something, Loki. Don’t respond. _

—

_ Do not presume to order me around, Stark. _

Tony snorted. Yeah, like he hadn’t seen that coming. Grabbing the dubbed ‘Medusa pen,’ he coaxed Ruby onto his finger. He gave the feathers on her chest a playful ruffle and slid the pen into her pouch. It didn’t fit all the way, and for a moment, nothing happened.

Then he blinked, and it was gone. A split second later, Ruby twittered. Grinning, he unfurled the letter and was visually assaulted by hot pink and sparkles.

_ Have you lost your mind? Why in all the realms would you send me this disgusting thing? Odin’s beard, if you insist on presents, gift me something useful. _

—

_ Any suggestions? _

—

_ The hearts of my enemies would be a pleasant start. Baring that… something sweet. I seem to recall you promising me chocolates. _

—

_ Next year. I promised to get you chocolate next year IF you behaved. Have you? _

—

_ Absolutely not, Stark. _

There was a strange heat rising up Tony’s neck and into his cheeks—surely he wasn’t blushing? No, Tony stamped forcefully down on that. He hadn’t blushed since he was a kid—nah, he figured he was just coming down with something. Flu, maybe.

He gave Ruby a discrete glance. Bird flu, maybe. God knows where those Asgardian birds that been. He was probably going to die.

Tony stared at the note. He could hear Loki’s smirk all over that. Still… he was gripped with an urge to send chocolate.

Not because Loki wanted it, of course.

—

_ Did you get that? _

_ Loki? _

—

_ Yes, I received your offering. I think I shall spare you. _

—

_ Well, that’s comforting. _

—

_ It should be, Stark. It should be. _

—

Tony had honestly preferred to sleep in his workshop most days. The mechanical hum of the various components of the lab was more comforting to him then a mother’s lullaby… which, he figured, was a little messed up. Still, the whirring was a pleasant white noise that filled his mind, a nonthreatening sound to focus on when the silence in his nightmares became too much.

Now he slept in his proper bed most nights, and had a little chirping bird who would dive bomb his head when his night terrors caused him to scream and flail.

_ Stark, are you ill? _

—

_ No, Loki, just a nightmare, why? _

—

_ Cease immediately. Your distress is effecting the messenger birds and mine refuses to allow me to eat. _

—

_ Well golly-gee, Lolo, I’m super sorry my bad dream bothered you. _

—

_ Your sarcasm is without compare, truly. Besides, this is merely what your mortals refer to as ‘tough love.’ _

—

_ …So you admit you like me? _

_ Just a little? _

_ I knew I’d get to you eventually! _

—

_ I do not court mortals, Stark. _

—

_ Who said anything about courting? Unless, of course, you were already thinking it. _

—

_ How’s prison, Lo? _

—

_ Do not refer to me as such. _

—

_ Why, Lo? Lo Lo Lo Lo _

—

_ Are you so stupid you cannot write an extra two letters? _

—

_ Lo _

—

_ I hate you. _

—

But Loki hated the silence more, so he kept writing back, day after day. Before, he would stare down his quiet clock, counting the minutes until… until what? He did not know. Until death, perhaps. Until Thor.

Now he listened to Eira’s soothing chirping, and watch her flutter around, flashing her emerald feathers in the light. For the first time since arriving in his cell, he found the light beautiful—the way it gleamed off her body, striking many different colors onto her as though her feathers were made of gems.

And Eira loved the attention—she would purposely ruffle her wings to catch the light, or perform acrobatics in the air to Loki’s sedate applause. Between his idiotic mortal and his precious Eira, Loki no longer hungered for entertainment.

—

_ Thor’s making noise about going back to Asgard. _

—

_Thank you for the warning. I shall endeavor to conceal myself… oh, wait. I forgot._

—

_ Yeah, probably a little hard to hide in prison, huh Lo? Not going to hide under the bed? _

—

_ You are infuriating. Also, I intend to face him with some dignity—he shall not find me so easily overpowered this time. _

—

_ Wait, what? _

_ Loki, answer me. _

_ What happened? _

_ Loki! _

—

_ Nothing, Stark. _

—

_ Bullshit. _

—

_ It is none of your concern. _

—

_ If Thor’s hurting you, then it kinda fucking is! _

—

_ No, Stark. Leave it be. _

To Loki’s amazement, he did. No questioning, no anger, just a note:  _‘For now.’_

And that was acceptable—he had no desire to tell his mortal himself, but he could push Stark into confronting Thor… the thought which left him feeling vaguely ill, for some reason. How odd. Perhaps that chocolate Stark sent had given him some vile internal parasite.

Loki laid back on his bed. To his eternal frustration, the pillows were far too fluffy, no matter how much he punched them down. Grumbling, he just made due without—using the pillows instead as a means of blocking out the light while he tried to sleep.

—

_ So, Loki, we’ve been doing this for about a month now, right? _

—

_ I suppose. I have no means of measuring time beyond the span of a day. _

—

_ Seriously? That’s fucked, Loki. Anyway, I think Ruby is getting bigger. _

—

_ Ruby? _

—

_ My bird. I named her Ruby. _

—

_ For her scarlet plumage, I imagine? Very clever, Stark. Truly a genius among men. _

—

_ Watch it, smartass, or I won’t send you anymore chocolate. _

—

_ Norns forbid! Not the chocolate! _

—

_ ANYWAY ASSHOLE. Ruby’s getting bigger, I swear. _

Loki paused and glanced at Eira, who was grooming a wing. He beckoned her to his finger and she did so happily, settling into a contented roost. Whereas before, her talons could not wrap fully around Loki’s slender finger…

He blinked. Stark was right, they were getting bigger. For what purpose?

_ I can tell by your silence that you were just confirming my theory. It’s okay to admit I’m right, Lo, I won’t gloat too much. _

—

_ Perhaps there is some small increase in size. It’s not as if I have proper tools of measurement so… I concede nothing. _

—

_ Whelp, ain’t it just lucky for us that I do? Ruby’s gained a whole 3 ounces. _

—

_ That measurement means nothing to me, imbecile. _

—

_ Whatever, princess. They’re bigger. _

—

_ I hardly trust your analysis. I’m sure you have plenty of experience in making things appear larger than they truly are. _

—

_ Babe, I’m all natural. _

_ You know, first you brought up my ass… _

_ Now you’re bringing up my junk… _

_ A man could get the wrong idea, Loki. _

—

_ I doubt you have never had a wrong idea, Stark. _

—

_ So you admit I’m right? _

—

_ I admit nothing. I’m going back to bed. _

—

_ Dream about me, Lo. _

—

_ I would never. _

Nevertheless, there was a faint pink flush on Loki’s cheeks as he tucked his head under the pillow.

—

When Tony finally got back from dealing with some low lifes would thought it was be a fan-fucking-tastic idea to animate the Statue of Liberty, he walked into his workshop to find something bizarre.

Ruby was apparently having some sort of love affair with Butterfingers.

He was racing around with the bird perched on his claw, then whoosh! She would open her wings, fall backwards, loop-de-loop through the air, then catch up with the bot to do it all again, all while Butterfingers was beeping cheerfully. It was the stupidest, cutest thing he’d ever seen.

As soon as Ruby caught sight of Tony though, she made a beeline to him, pecking at her pouch.

“Yeah, I bet Loki was pretty grumpy about the way our conversation ended, huh?” he asked, rubbing a finger on her beak. “Not my fault, though, not like I can control when the Avengers get assembled.” She chirped in what Tony felt to be agreement.

_ Stark, what do you mean ‘the alarm’s been sounded’? _

_ Is there trouble afoot? _

_ How droll. I bet they did not even bring an army. _

—

_ Nope, no army. _

—

_ Excellent, I would hate to be outdone after such a short period of time. _

—

_ Lo, I think you hate being outdone period. _

—

_ Fair point. How was the battle? _

—

_ Pretty exciting—I can honestly say I’ve never battled a 300 foot statue waving around a flaming torch. You know that saying that words can never hurt you? _

—

_ I have heard of it. _

—

_ Yeah, it’s bullshit. She smacked the hell out of me with her tablet and knocked me right out of the air. _

—

_ Well, that’s one way to deal with a flying insect. Were you injured, little bug? _

—

_ Worried about me? Heh. I’m bruised up and I’ll be walking funny tomorrow, but what’s new? _

—

_ Stark, was that another one of your filthy sex jokes? _

—

_ Wanna find out? _

—

_ Oh Stark, you naive little mortal. My bedmates do not walk at all the next day. _

—

_ …I’m really hoping that’s because you fucked them senseless, not killed them. _

—

_Wouldn’t you like to know?_

—

Tony awoke from a nightmare for what felt like the billionth time that night. He dreamed of the crushing, empty void and suffocation of waterboarding—as if the two weren’t bad enough on their own, his subconscious decided to blend them together into one hellish experience.

He mopped the sweat off his brow, and debating going to the bar and just getting drunk.

Or…

Tony glanced over at Ruby, sleeping soundly with her head tucked under a wing. He poked her awake, ignoring the offended cheep! that followed. Sensing that her outrage might not be completely apparent, she also bit down on his thumb for good measure.

“Ow, dammit, Ruby—that hurt!”

Could a bird glare? Ruby was definitely trying her hardest.

“I’m sorry, Ruby. I just wanted to talk to Loki.” He stroked a finger down her back placatingly, which, to his relief, she accepted.

_ Loki, do you have nightmares? _

—

_ Yes. _

—

_ What about? _

—

_ Torture. _

—

_ Me, too… What did you do to stop them? _

—

_ They have not stopped, Stark. _

—

_ Oh… does anything help? _

—

_ Sometimes… sometimes I read the old letters to wrote me. _

—

_ And they help? _

—

_ Yes. _

—

_ Loki… can I admit something stupid? _

—

_ Stark, there is nothing you could possibly say to further lower my opinion of you. _

—

_ I get lonely. Surrounded by the Avengers and hussies and media and everyone… and I get lonely. _

—

_ You should not, foolish man. _

_ I am here. _

—

Weeks (a month?) passed, eased by Stark’s banter. He was still in prison, and he still was probably going to be executed after his trial, but… at least he would not be crazed beyond belief when that time came. Loki just had a foolish wish to see Stark before his death, to see the man who had dared befriend him with one sarcastic, smug letter.

_ Got some news, Loki. You’ll want to hear this. _

—

_ I can hear nothing through paper. _

—

_ Shut up, you know it’s an expression. Anyway, Thor said your trial’s coming up in two weeks. Did you know that? _

—

_ No. They tell me nothing. _

—

_ Yeah, well, I’m coming with Thor. _

—

_ Why? _

—

_ Maybe I just wanna see your pretty face, princess. _

—

_ Call me ‘pretty’ or ‘princess’ again and I shall slit your throat. _

—

_ With what, a dinner knife? _

—

_ I am very creative, Stark. _

His words were biting, acidic, but Loki could not be more pleased. He may only have two weeks to live, but at least before then he would see the one person in all the realms he could call a friend.

  
_Thank you, Stark._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Face to Face**

This was utterly humiliating. Loki had nearly destroyed his birth realm, he had sabotaged Mjolnir, he had tricked his own father… through all his long life, he had never been truly nervous.

And now he was.

To see a  _mortal._

His stomach cramped at the thought of Stark seeing him thusly—long ratty hair, skinny, dressed like a peasant…

“Clothes,” he gasped, “I need clothes!”

He made the order as soon as a servant brought in his meal tray—snapping at the man and startling him badly. The prince, who had not said a word in months, now demanding his fine, silken clothes—it was almost enough to give the servant a heart attack.

It was his mother who brought the requested items, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Frigga gazed at Loki—who was standing tall, already stripping off his rags—with a look of fierce pride.

“You look well, my son,” placing her bundle on the bed, “I have brought some of your old clothes, as well as a comb and a bathing kit.”

“Thank you, mother,” he said softly, already digging through the kit, caring not a whit about his nudity. When was the last time he had properly bathed…? Probably Before.

“Loki, how fare you?” Frigga questioned—Loki appeared stronger, but he was still too gaunt and thin, his skin still sallow.

Loki discarded the soap provided, instead grabbing the body wash Stark had sent some months back. “I am better, mother,” he finally responded, “Perhaps you would provide me with some privacy?” He added, arching a pointed eyebrow at her over his shoulder.

“Tis not my fault you undressed as soon as I arrived,” Frigga shot back, unfazed. “But I shall.” He summoned a large bath in the middle of the cell, a luxurious stone tub with gleaming clawed feet, filled to the brim with steaming hot water. “I will return in an hour to banish it,” she added, chuckling at Loki’s longing look at the bath.

It was quite possibly the most amazing sensation he had ever experienced—an audible groan slipped out of his lips as he lowered himself in.

—

“Have you heard anything outta Loki?” Tony fixed piercing eyes on Thor—not that he noticed, as he was facing away towards fridge.

“My mother has sent word of his health,” the god responded cheerfully, rummaging through the fridge and pulling out a whole ham.

“Thor, that’s for Christmas dinner tomorrow, no touching,” Tony reminded, “Steve’ll flip—you know how much holidays mean to him.” Thor grumbled at that, but returned the ham. “Anyway, he’s doing better?”

“Yes, much. It seems my methods had an effect after all.” Thor sniffed a dish of green bean casserole, made a face, and stuck it back in.

“Right… and your methods were what exactly?” The man kept his voice light and airy, but he could not hide the steel glinting in his gaze.

“I merely encouraged him to eat. It appears I was successful; Mother sent word that he has regained some weight. I will speak to her further when we are in Asgard.”

Asgard. It was a daunting prospect—City of the Gods, not that that was too important to Tony—no, he was more concern about the state he would find Loki in. Thor couldn’t care for a fucking houseplant, and this guy was supposedly helping his brother eat?

That was troublesome.

Thor turned around just in time to see Tony cross his arms over his chest and get a face full of ‘you’re a goddamn idiot’ glare.

“Is something wrong, my friend?”

Tony scowled. “No, nothing at all,” he ground out, before returning to his lab—to Ruby.

To Loki.

_ Hey, got a surprise for you, Lo. _

—

_ We’ve discussed that nickname, Stark. Refer to me by my given name, or not at all. _

—

_ I will if you call me Tony. _

—

_ I will give it its due consideration. _

—

_ Yeah, that’s fancy bullshit for ‘no,’ Lo. _

—

_ Is it now, Tony? _

Tony paused, heart hammering. He tried to imagine how his name would sound on those lips—how that rich, cultured voice would shape the vowels—but he couldn’t. All he could remember were Loki’s battle speeches, and yeah, he was great at them, but that tone didn’t exactly lend itself to something as mundane as ‘Tony.’

He would force Loki to say his name, he decided. Tony needed to hear it.

_ Huh, so you can teach an old god new tricks. Anyway, it’s Christmas tomorrow. You know about Christmas? _

_ I think you guys call it Yule. _

—

_ Yes—Yuletide is upon us. What of it? _

—

_ I gotcha something. Hang on. _

—

Loki stared at the small, marble-like object as he rolled it between his fingers. It exuded potent energy, which felt startling similar to magic. But it couldn’t be, there was no possible way…

“What is this?” He whispered to the little orb. He hastily scribbled down the question and waited, holding his breath, for Star- no,  _Tony’s_  response.

_ Nifty, isn’t it? I know your magic’s been locked up tight pending the trial, so I called in a favor. _

_ Crush it between your fingers and it’ll release a burst of magic. _

_ Not enough to fight off an army or anything, but enough to get away if you’re in trouble. _

—

_ And who owed you such a hefty favor? _

—

_ Guy named Dr. Strange. Don’t worry about it. Do you think it will work? _

Loki inhaled deeply, listening to the mellifluous singing of the magic in the marble. It sounded so beautiful he wanted to weep—it was a memory of home, of all lost, of Before. Would it work? Oh yes; it was filled to the brim with energy for him to harness. Tony had just foolishly handed him a means of escape, a way to leave this foul cell behind—

_ I guess you want to play with your new toy, huh? It’s fine, I’ll see you in two days. _

Two days. Two days and Tony would be there, with his over-proud grin and flashing umber eyes… Loki could wait two days.

_ I apologize for the delay. Thank you for the gift, Tony, I shall treasure it. _

—

_ I don’t want you to treasure it, I want you to use it in case things turn sour at your trial. _

_ I don’t care if you have to shove it up your ass jailhouse style, BRING IT. _

—

_ Why so interested in my ass, Tony? _

—

_ I’m not above admitting I stole a glance during our fight. _

_ It’s a fine ass. _

_ But stop distracting me, Loki. _

_ Promise you’ll bring it. _

—

_ Do you truly believe I would not arm myself in any way possible? _

—

_ Dammit, Loki, I know. It’s just… we’ve been pen pals for a year. You’re my friend. _

—

_ A friend whose ass you stare at? _

—

_ An incredibly sexy friend. Happy? _

—

_Immeasurably._

And Loki was.

—

Asgard was nothing like Tony anticipated. He expected some form of Viking longhouses surrounded by dark fir trees and earth—Tony had run a marathon of the TV show ‘Vikings’ in an attempt to prepare himself… and that was not helpful at all.

Sure, he could’ve asked Thor, but why have human interaction when there was TV?

He just happened to forget the fundamental rule of boob tube: it lies.

No, Asgard stood glittering gold in the sunlight, with high spires like that of a church organ; tall and illustrious and…  _were those plasma cannons?_  Tony rubbernecked like a pervert in a nudie bar, gaping at the armaments posted along the high walls.  _Holy shit!_

Thor had to drag Tony along by the hand like a child—he was too busy ogling at all the lackadaisically placed technology that put his state of the art arc reactor to shame. Tony had thought Thor and other Aesir were all Scandinavian circa a thousand years ago—for fuck sake, the guy could barely work a toaster—and yet, he hailed from a place rich with machinery and knowledge.

Tony’s fingers itched to take something, anything!, apart and  _learn_ , absorb what he could, build it bigger and better, but Thor had a tight grip on his hand and was pulling him towards Loki.

And Loki might be just a little bit better then Asgard’s secrets.

—

“Continue down this corridor here, my friend. Loki is placed on the third level,” Thor made a grand, sweeping gesture down the hallway.

“Wait, aren’t you coming with me?” Tony asked, slightly wary.

“Nay,” Thor responded sadly, shooting the corridor a mournful glance. “I must see Mother first. There will be time for me to visit my brother later tonight.”

“Oh… okay. See ya.” He waved Thor off, then stuck out his tongue as soon as the blonde god was out of eyesight. “Plenty of time, my ass. I don’t know what your game is, but I’m going to find out…”

After managing to get lost twice (which made no  _sense_ , it was just a straight hallway and some stairs,  _what the fuck_ ), Tony finally found what he assumed to be Loki’s cell bloc—it was a pretty solid assumption, considering it was the only one he had seen so far that was lit.

“Loki?” he called, unwilling to walk down to face off with some other prisoner—one who might be a murderous psychopath.

There was only one murderous psychopath he wanted to see.

“Loki?” he called again, louder this time.

Something banged deafeningly, then—

“I am here.”

“Oh, thank you god,” Tony wheezed, clutching his chest. He hurried down the hallway.

“I heard that,” Loki’s voice rang out teasingly. “Calling me a god already? And so soon in your corruption, Tony!”

“Haha, laugh it up,” Tony drawled, but his mind was stuck on that one word: ‘Tony’.

‘Tony’.

It was beautiful.

Tony moved in front of the glass wall separating him from Loki. The god opened his arms, offering himself—‘look at me!’ his body said, ‘see me!’ all while Loki’s own eyes were devouring every inch of Tony from his mussed hair, to his wrinkled shirt, to the razor burn on his cheeks. In stark contrast, Loki was dressed in his finest, though the clothes hung too wide and loose from his frame. The god’s mane fell in a mess of inky waves down his back, thick and gleaming, much longer than it had been last time they met face to face. Tony wanted nothing more than to tangle his fingers into it, to see if it was a soft and silken as it looked.

“Do you remember when we last stood as thus, Tony?” Loki grinned, stretched and somewhat manic.

“Yup. You threw me out a window.”

“Mm, yes, I recall. Perhaps I shall forgive the insult which provoked that if you share with me that drink you promised?” Loki began to prowl about inside his cell, a predator on the hunt, sending a tingle down Tony’s spine.

The man hid it, though, with a casual shrug. “What, the chocolate not good enough for you? Careful, you’ll run that fine prison physique.” Tony’s smirk could cut steel, and he did not hide as his eyes made another sweep over Loki’s form.

Loki threw his head back and laughed, tossing his hair over his shoulder in a perfumed sheet. “Oh yes, my ‘prison physique’ is truly marvelous. It’s a wonder you have not leapt into my cell half-cocked!” He swept an enticing hand over his thin torso, though the movement was also sarcastic and rueful.

“Lo, you know I don’t do anything half-cocked.” Tony placed his hands on his hips and drummed his fingers for emphasis, drawing Loki’s attention down, down… They fell into the flirting banter as easily as breathing, each vying against the other, a race to the finish line. First and second prize being a good, rough fuck.

Loki expelled a breathy laugh, tearing his eyes from Tony. “I know no such thing.”

“Keep it up and you just might.”

“Bold words, mortal,” Loki retorted, a feral smirk growing on his face.

“Hey, anyway I can actually get in there?” Tony questioned, then added in response to Loki’s hungry expression, “I swear I won’t ravish you, princess.”

“My, you are spirited. As if I would ever allow much a thing!” Loki stopped his ambulating, and motioned to the far wall. “There is a control panel I have observed the servants using. Unfortunately, I cannot see exact  _what_  they do.”

“Wait, I’m sorry, did you just admit to not knowing something? Can I get that in writing?”

“Watch your mouth, Stark, I know enough to put you in your place.”

Tony just couldn’t resist. With a lewd wink, he sauntered to just a bare inch from the glass. “And where is that?” he asked, voice low with meaning.

Loki’s smoldering emerald eyes said everything.

Tony swallowed around the desert forming in his mouth, skin tingling under that intense gaze. “So, uh, your trial is tomorrow,” he threw out apropos to nothing, for want of a better topic, because he was about five seconds from stripping down right there.

Loki inclined his head somewhat and resumed pacing erratically around his cell. “Yes. I imagine my sentence will be death.”

“You still got that thing I sent?”

“Of course. I have not let it out of my sight or off my person.” Loki’s fingers brushed against the marble, bound in twine and hanging from his neck. It was a smooth motion, well practiced, obviously one he performed several times a day.

“And you’ll use it, right?” Tony wasn’t stupid, of course Loki would use it, he just… just wanted to hear Loki say it.

Loki was honestly tempted to break the damn thing if only to get to Tony, to wrap the man into his arms and kiss that mouth which gave voice to such wonderful wit—Loki wondered if he would be able to taste the sarcasm on Tony’s tongue. He licked his lips, and was pleased to see Tony’s eyes flicker down, before returning to his own, pupils dilating.

Oh, yes, Loki would use that little orb at his trial—one last great prank on the valiant Odin and Odinson, then he would make haste to Tony’s tower to fuck that man over the bar, as he should’ve done a year ago.

Tony, who could lie to the God of Lies.

Tony, who shined in a way to accent Loki’s own brilliance, not overshadow it.

Indeed, this was a mortal worth courting.

—

Thor found them about an hour later, smirking indecently at each other. He hooked a hand under Tony’s arm and yanked him away with a booming, “To bed now, Tony Stark!”, but Tony didn’t miss the way Loki’s eyes briefly flickered with fear, or the way he immediately placed his back to a wall. A panic response to Thor’s presence, Tony noted, but why…?

The golden god dumped Tony into his room for the night, and made to leave before pausing nervously in the doorway.

“My friend,” he started, idly fingering Mjolnir’s handle, not quite looking at Tony. “What did you and my brother discuss?”

“Nothing,” Tony replied, heartily disliking the way Thor was handling the giant, electricity producing, flying mystical hammer. He took a breath and continued, “Mostly we just caught up.”

“Caught up,” Thor repeated dubiously. “Tell me, what do you have to ‘catch up’ on?”

“The latest episode of Game of Thrones?” This was so not the time to be a smartass, but it was practically in Tony’s genes.

“This is no laughing matter, Man of Iron!” Thor snapped, eyes stormy blue. He raised Mjolnir as if in warning, pointing the hammer’s blunt head at Tony’s chest. “If I suspect you of having a negative effect on my brother…”

Fury flared wildly in Tony’s middle, pulsing with each frantic beat of his heart. It seemed to glow out of his arc reactor—a cool blue warning. “Oh, me? Seriously? Lemme tell you, Thunder Thighs, it sure as shit wasn’t me he was terrified of.” He took a step towards Thor, stopping only when Mjolnir hit the reactor with a dull  _clang_!

Thor roared like a wounded animal, pressing the hammer further into Tony’s chest. “You have no idea of what you speak!”

Tony sneered at that, rage marring his handsome features and twisting his face into something ugly. “Don’t I? Loki looked like he was going to have a fucking panic attack when you walked in. What the hell did you do to him?”

“I did what I had to, Tony Stark, and I will not be judged by you, a man without a heart to care with!” The words burst from him like a dam, pouring forth in a frenzy of pent-up concern for Loki and jealousy over Loki’s preference for Tony.

They both froze. Thor’s eyes widened when he realized exactly what he had thrown out unthinkingly in his passion, the insult he just hurled at a friend who was only asking for the well being of his brother. Thor felt the life drain from him, anger washing away in a crashing wave of regret.

“My friend, I apologize, I did not mean-”

“Get the fuck out.” Tony’s voice was calm and cold, and his face a collected mask—but his eyes burned with fiendfire.

“My friend…” Thor started again, he backed away from Tony, but reached out an imploring hand. His heart was aching with shame to have wounded the man so.

“ ** _Out._** ” A fierce, passionate order like a commander would give on the battlefield. Thor was a good little soldier, always had been, and obeyed. He fled with a pitiful glance backwards, leaving Tony fuming in the lavish bedroom, fists clenched tightly enough to draw blood.

—

Tony slept like shit, tossing and turning; fuming over Thor’s remark and fearing the outcome of Loki’s trial that morning. The moon was glowing high in the midnight sky when Tony finally just gave up. He wanted desperately to see Loki again—to at least talk to him—needed to hear those snarky words that seemed to shoot straight to his heart. But there was no way for him to do so—the guard posted at the door to the detention wing only allowed him in because of Thor. If he really wanted to see Loki, he’d have to track Thor down and kiss ass…

But it would be worth it.

He cursed himself for not thinking to bring Ruby.

Almost as if in response to Tony’s thought, a shrill chirp cut right through his brooding.

_Ruby?_

Something was fluttering around in his bag. Tony dived off the bed and rigged it open, staring in shock as Ruby came tumbling out, feathers ruffled.

“You little minx,” he breathed, “You stowaway! That’s my girl!”

Ruby fluffed herself up, shaking the crinkles from her plumage. If Tony didn’t know better, he’d had said that she gave him an almost smug look at she puffed out her chest and pecked at the pouch.

_ Tony? _

_ I suppose you had no reason to bring your Ruby. _

—

_ No. _

_ I’m here, Loki. _

_ The little girl hid in my bag. _

—

_ The bird has more brains than you, mortal. _

—

_ Har, har. _

—

_ How fare you? My brother was in a mood most foul when he snatched you away. _

—

_ He didn’t go back to see you? _

—

_ No. Why? _

_ What happened? _

—

_ We kinda got into a fight. _

—

_ And yet you live? _

—

_ A verbal fight, jackass. _

_ Though he did nearly electrocute me with Mjolnir. _

_ Good thing he didn’t. _

—

_ Indeed. I would have slaughtered him and everyone he ever cared for. _

—

_ No, you wouldn’t’ve. My reactor would’ve blown and taken out half of Asgard. _

—

_ What a useful feature, I must remember that. _

—

_ Hey! No plotting world domination with my reactor. _

—

_ Not even a little? _

—

_ NO, Loki. Bad god. Bad boy. No treat for you. _

—

_ Oh… you think me bad? _

_ You think me naughty? _

_ Tony, you have no idea… _

And fuck, Tony could hear those words purred in Loki’s accented voice, could almost feel the whispered breath fanning across his ear making sparks dance down his spine. He gave a full-bodied shudder and palmed his stiffening cock. What Loki didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him…

_ No witty comeback? _

_ Have my words affected you so? _

_ Oh, Tony, shall I tell you all the lewd things I’ve thought of doing to you since you came before me? _

Oh god, Tony thought helplessly. Apparently Loki  _did_  know, and was now willingly offering to fill Tony in of his private fantasies. Tony began to pump his cock faster and bit his lip to hold back a groan. Fumbling, he scribbled out a hasty word, his hand shaking too badly for neatness, and he almost took up the whole page:  _‘Ok’_

Loki seemed to get the message, though, and his own words bled into the paper. Loki’s normally elegant, loopy scrawl had taken on a scratchy and shaky tilt.

_ I have been longing to take you over that bar where you first challenged me. _

_ To tear the clothes from your body and leave you mewling beneath me… _

_ I would taste of you, Tony. _

_ Your sweat, as it dripped down your brow. _

_ Your skin, trembling under my lips. _

_ Your mouth, shameless and begging. _

_ I wish to leave my marks on your person. _

_ Teeth branded into your neck and claws down your back _

_ I would spread you open, just to watch you squirm wantonly. _

Jesus. Tony couldn’t decide what was more arousing—the thought of Loki performing the actions, or simply  _narrating_  them in his dark voice. He whimpered into the back of his hand, biting down into the skin to fight back his rabidly building orgasm, but the pain, combined with Loki’s promise of branding him, just sent pulses of hot arousal right down to his cock.

_ And then I would fuck you, Tony. _

_ First with my tongue… _

_ Then with my fingers… _

_ But I would make you beg for my cock. Plead for me to stuff you full and fill you with my seed. _

_ And you would love it, wouldn’t you? _

_ Lie to me, Tony, and tell me that it not what you desire. _

And that was all it took. Tony spurted out onto his fist, thankfully managing to catch it all and not send ropes of cum flying all over the bed—he felt far too fucked out to even  _begin_  considering clean up.

_ Can’t talk, Lo. Dying from orgasm. _

—

_ Oh, but we have so much more to discuss, Tony. _

_ Perhaps another time, then. _

_ Go back to bed, now that I have sated some of that lust of yours. _

Sated? Oh hell no, Loki poured fucking gasoline on the inferno that was Tony’s libido. His hand was covered in his spunk, which he wiped without care on the corner of the sheets. Tony flopped onto his belly, exhausted. Roaring fire his lust may be, Loki was right—some of the built up energy had released, evaporating like steam off his skin into the cool night air.

Tony fell into a sleep plagued, not with nightmares, but images of Loki flickering before him.

—

Loki sat in the middle of his overbright cell, calm and at ease. His ears pricked to hear to stomping of boots coming down the hall, but gave no indication that he cared.

And he did not.

He had the marble bound tightly, hanging from his neck.

He had the thought of Tony, soothing his aching headache.

“Prince Loki,” one of the guards called as the came to a halt before his cell door. “We have come to escort you to your trial. Come peacefully, or you will be restrained.”

“It appears,” Loki mused in a silky voice, “that you will restrain me regardless.” He nodded his head to the muzzle in the guard’s hand.

“A necessary precaution Odin All-Father ordered. You will not be allowed to speak in your defense.”

“Goodness, me!” Loki drawled, rising to his feet. “Why does he simply not have me executed without all this nonsense?” He stood obediently next to the door, body lax and unthreatening. When the guard opened it, Loki stepped through the threshold and waited patiently for the muzzle to be clamped around his mouth. He made no struggle, even lowered his head to allow the guard better access.

Despite his indifferent exterior, Loki was battling a war on the inside. He wanted to scream and struggle against those hands, wanted to rip the metal from his mouth, but he fought to calm himself, to push back to panic welling in his chest. If they bound him, he would not be able to use the marble.

He would not be able to see Tony.

Loki held onto that thought like a lifeline.

—

The throne room was so vast that their footsteps echoed off the golden walls like drums. High above the trio, Odin’s throne Hlidskjalf loomed, ancient and powerful. It was great and winged, and certainly not the first time Loki had seen it as thus.

The two guards at his elbows pushed him into a kneel, ignoring his small huff of protest. His eyes scanned the throne room quickly, and honed onto Tony, standing next to Thor with a bitter look on his face.

Tony was staring at the muzzle with a look of supreme distaste, something Loki found amusing, considering it was he who strapped the first one on. Loki inclined his head in greeting, which Tony returned, neither of them paying the least bit of attention to those gathered around.

“Loki Odinson,” Odin boomed, and Loki’s nostrils flared, “you are here to stand trial for your crimes against Midgard.”

_Only Midgard?_

“How plead you?” He demanded. Loki arched an eyebrow, but before he could motion his head either way, Tony stepped in.

_No!_

“That’s kinda a stupid question, isn’t it?” Loki closed his eyes and prayed to the Norns that this man was not so stupid as to challenge Odin. “After all, he was outta his mind.” Apparently, Tony was.

“It is not your place to speak now, mortal, I will hear your testimony against Loki in a moment.”

“Against?” Anthony sputtered, “No! I’m pro-Loki! In America we have a little something called ‘pleading insanity’ and I think being tortured for god knows how long-”

“Enough!” Odin banged Gungnir against the floor, scowling. “Do not presume to lecture me on holding court, Anthony Edward Stark, when I have been doing so since before your ancestors crawled from the muck!”

Tony opened his mouth to hotly retort against that, only to be silenced by Thor slamming a strong hand over his mouth.

_Norns, never let me think this again, but thank you, Thor._

For good measure, Loki shot a warning glance at Tony and minutely shook his head. Tony’s eyes flashed with anger at that, and they glared at one another, both muzzled and mirrored.

“Loki Odinson,” Odin repeated with a sharp look at Tony, “you are here to stand trial for your crimes against Midgard. How plead you?”

Loki dipped his head, indicating ‘guilty.’

“Were you acting on behalf of an outside force?”

He tilted his head. Yes and no. Norns, it would be some much  _easier_  if they let him speak! Then he could worm his way through this without even needing to bother with the marble. Which, he supposed, was precisely why he was thusly gagged.

“Yes or no, Loki?” Odin’s voice was steely and hard, clearly already fed up with his son’s games.

_Ah. Well…_

Loki just wanted this whole thing over this. Which answer would give him the most immediate end?

He shook his head.

“You acted alone?”

Nod.

“You purposely attacked a defenseless world and lead an army there with the intent of slaughter and mayhem?”

_Not quite, but…_

Nod.

“Are you at all repentant?”

Loki snorted. The only thing he was regretted at all was not snatching Tony for himself right from the beginning. He shook his head.

“Then I sentence you to death. Guards!”

Tony shouted, tearing himself from Thor, but he was lost in a blinding flash was white light.

—

_“I sentence you to death.”_

The words rang through the hollow part in Tony’s chest.  _No!_

He roared against Thor’s hand and ripped himself away with strength he didn’t know he possessed. He lunged towards Loki, but the god smashed his fist against his own chest, a manic laugh resounding across the great throne room.

Loki was gone in a burst of magic and light.

Tony fell to his knees and blinked back the tears from his burning retinas, listening with half an ear to the Asgardians’ roaring. Thor’s hand squeezed his shoulder painfully, making the bones creak, but it seemed to be soothing rather than threatening.

Thor bent low, and whispered into his ear, “My friend, we must get you out of here lest my father believe you somehow responsible.” With that, Thor yanked Tony to his feet and bodily dragged him away. Tony was still sightless, and he swayed dangerously on his feet, a headache already pinpricking at his temples.

“Thor…” he murmured thickly, “Thor, ya gotta slow down or I’m going to hurl…”

But the god paid him no heed, pulling him along even faster, until he stopped just as Tony was starting to be able to keep step.

“Mother!” Thor cried, “Mother, Loki has escaped-”

“Yes, I know. All of Asgard could feel your father’s fury. Go, I will take the child to the Bifrost and return him safely to Midgard.” Tony was shuffled between two pairs of hands until a different, more feminine hand clenched his bicep.

“Frigga?” He hazarded, trying to wipe away the tears still flowing from his injured eyes. Or was it blood? It was painful enough to be blood.

“Yes, child. Come.”

She was much gentler with him, but she still pushed him at a punishing pace. It seemed like years before they stopped, and something soft and fabric was shoved into his hands.

“Your bag,” Frigga provided, and laid her hands over Tony’s eyes. “Hold. Let me see.”

There was a strange warmth that flushed through him, comforting and tender. Was this what a mother was? He never knew. Tony stayed still as Frigga worked her magic.

“You will regain your vision in the next few minutes,” she informed Tony to his immense relief. “You will be back in Midgard by then.”

_What?_

—

Traveling via Bifrost was awful on a normal occasion, but traveling unexpectedly while blind was  _fucking terrible._

Tony sank down, rubbing his eyes fiercely, unsure of where he’d been dropped off until a polite voice called out, “Sir? Do you require assistance?”

“Oh, thank god it’s you JARVIS!” Tony could kiss that bundle of wires. “Yeah, send out DUM-E to help me inside.”

Within seconds, the bot was there, offering his claw for Tony to grab onto. “If you drop me over the ledge,” he warned, “I will come back to haunt you, I swear.”

DUM-E beeped in a way that was probably supposed to be comforting, but really wasn’t.

By the time they reached the couch, Tony’s eyesight had, for the most part, returned. He was still incredibly wobbly, though, so he clung to the claw as he slowly lowered himself onto the couch.

He sat there motionless for a few seconds, adrenaline crashing, until his bag began to squirm.

“Want out, huh?” He chuckled and undid the zipper. “Welcome ho— _holy shit._ ”

Ruby flew out in a flash of scarlet wings and perched before him, proud and austere. Before, she had only been the size of a finch, but now she was roughly as big as a New York pigeon.

“Wow,” he blurted. “You’re…” Tony had a sneaking feeling that Ruby was starting to be able to understand him, and if he referred to her as a ‘rat-with-wings,’ she’d pluck out his eyes. Having just regained his sight, that wasn’t a path he felt like visiting. “…beautiful,” he finished lamely.

She preened under the attention.

Ruby had two letter for him, one clasped in her beak, and the other in her pouch. Tony reached for the one in her beak first, and squinted at the unrecognized handwriting.

_ Anthony, I thank you for the aid you have given my son. Allow me to work my influence here for a time, and perhaps soon it will be safe enough for you both to return.—Frigga _

_Like hell am I ever going back!_

Still… all that gorgeous tech…

Well, maybe when the political waters had calmed somewhat.

Placing that letter aside, he smiled and reached for the one he truly wanted to read.

  
_ Tell me, Tony, what are you wearing? _


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6: The Aftermath_

It was one of  _those_  mornings.

When Tony tried to get out of bed, the sheets tangled around his feet and tripped him. He cursed and hollered a bit, but managed to drag ass to the bathroom to start the process of becoming human. While attempting to scrape the white layer of nasty off his tongue, Tony accidentally hit the back of his throat and activated a gag reflex he thought he’d gotten rid of in college. He held onto the rim of the sink for dear life as he heaved, now retching more because of the toothpaste dripping down his esophagus.

Tony was slightly more wary when he stepped into the shower. At first, all seemed to be going okay—the water was perfect, he didn’t slip on his way in, and there was nothing in the immediate vicinity that would make him hurl. Yup, everything was fine… until he tried to shampoo his hair. The bottle was almost empty, so he shook it with vigor and squeezed to get the last bit out—only to have it pretty much go off like a bomb in his palm, with a drop of macho scent landing right in his eye.

“Motherfucker!” Tony swore and jammed his face under the spray to wash out the shampoo. Once his eye was cleaned out (and smelled like a goddamn manly man mountain, according to the shampoo bottle), he turned to grab the soap.

And dropped it.

With a sigh, he bent… and banged his head on the soap dish.

“I give up,” he whimpered, cradling his injured head. He tried to just sit—nothing can happen if he’s  _just sitting_ , right?—but he slipped halfway down and landed, howling, on his ass.

“JARV… for the love of god… get the coffee drip started…” Tony commanded, contemplating how to get to the kitchen without dying.

“I do apologize, sir, but it appears we are out of coffee.”

“Et tu, JARVIS?” Tony whispered brokenly. “Et tu?”

Yeah, it was one of  _those_  mornings.

—

Tony limped back into his bedroom, sore, aching, and all over in a foul mood.

Ruby cheeped at him cheerfully. His mood softened somewhat to see her on her perch, preening a large scarlet wing. She was now the roughly size of a falcon and had developed a golden crest, fanning from her head like a halo. Of course, since she had grown so big, he wasn’t able to hide her from the Avengers, especially since he would often go out flying with her—which was actually fun, considering she flew faster than any bird on Earth.

Interestingly, despite her size, she still chirped as softly as she did when she was small enough to fit in his palm. Not to say Ruby was incapable of loud noises—she nearly deafened Hawkeye when he tried to touch her. That only seemed to enamor the archer further, and Tony was eventually forced to stop bringing her to the shared floor.

(Not that Tony  _minded_  her being stroked by anyone else, he just… didn’t want people to.)

“Hey, pretty girl,” he sighed, offering a finger which she affectionately nipped. “Any mail?” Ruby lowered her head and ruffled her wings, something Tony had learned to mean ‘no.’

“Damn,” he muttered. “That’s not like him to have not messaged… Oh well, I’ll send off a letter after breakfast.” Ruby gave a happy twitter at that and Tony went ahead and opened the patio door for her in case she felt like stretching her wings.

—

Despite JARVIS’ insistence that there was no coffee, Tony knew what he smelled. Like a shark having caught the scent of blood, he followed his nose to ambrosia all the way down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Tony froze.

Loki was standing in the kitchen.

Just standing there—like he had every right in the world.

Drinking Tony’s milk straight from the carton (which, despite Tony’s bachelor-like tendencies, he found  _fucking disgusting_  - alien germs, hello!).

But he couldn’t help but take in the way Loki’s throat bobbed with each swallow, the way his hair spilled blue-black down his back (trimmed down somewhat, but still longer than it was during the invasion), and Tony was struck by how healthy the god looked.

Gone was the lanky, sallow mad god from the invasion and prison—his skin had taken on a much creamier, smoother hue, and while he would never rival Thor, his frame had filled out with lean muscle to match his height.

And he was  _standing in Tony’s kitchen_ , two cups of take-away coffee perched on the counter next to him. Tony’s eyes zeroed in on the little paper mugs.

“Tony,” Loki said pleasantly, having returned the milk to the fridge, “It had better be me you’re making those eyes at.”

“Yes, of course,” Tony muttered placatingly, fixating on the steaming cups of heaven.

Loki heaved a huge, dramatic sigh. “A year since we have last laid eyes on one another, and I am overthrown in your affections so soon,” the god cried dramatically, hand pressed to his chest. Nevertheless, he passed a cup to Tony with a smirk.

“Oh, my god,” Tony groaned and accepted it gratefully, downing the coffee in three huge gulps. His throat was scalded to hell and back, but it was so worth it—Loki had gotten the coffee perfect, black and strong enough to corrode a hole in the counter. “Sweet and merciful god that was good, thank-”

Tony’s brain kicked in.

“You are so freaking lucky I had JARVIS classify you as a friendly, you idiot!”

Loki snorted at that. “First I was a god, not I have been reduced to ‘idiot.’” He gave Tony a truly mournful look—which was complete bullshit, Tony could see his eyes glittering with mirth.

Still, Tony played along and tucked his clenched hands under his chin, widening his eyes like he was fearful. “Oh! Forgive my words! I was beside myself with grief,” he pouted, a pitch perfect novella heroine. Loki laughed, his shoulders shaking and hair cascading like waves around him.

“Norns, but you are terrible at that!”

Tony stuck out his tongue in response. “What are you doing here anyway you fugitive, and why the hell haven’t you hugged me?”

“Fugitive no more,” Loki said with a flourish of his hand, “Mother’s influence is deep and far-reaching; Odin has capitulated and rescinded my death sentence. Mother,” Loki’s voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper, his eyes gleaming with mischief, “has even decreed that I am not to be hunted on Midgard—your SHIELD dare not risk war over my head.”

“Is that why Fury was suddenly so pissy yesterday?” Tony demanded then spread his arms, “And my hug, asshole?”

“Hug? Is that how you Midgardians greet each other after a long absence?” Loki tilted his head and smiled in a way that made Tony feel like he was the butt of a joke.

“Uhhh… I guess? Don’t have much experience in that department. How do the oh-so-mighty Asgardians do it?”

Loki’s smile stretched wider. “We lay a hand on the other’s neck,” the god murmured, voice low, and cupped his large hand around Tony’s pulse point, “and if it is a particularly joyous meeting,” Loki leaned in and pressed a feather soft kiss to one of Tony’s cheeks, then the other, “we exchange pecks.”

“Ah, well…” Tony inhaled deeply and touched his lips to Loki’s. It was the barest brush of lips, unusually tender for him. “We’re a little more then friends, I think.”

Loki hummed in agreement and stroked his thumb against Tony’s neck. It was strangely domestic, standing together in a kitchen that smelled of fresh coffee, the morning sun casting rays of pink and orange and gold over them. It was as if Loki had always been there, as if this was not the first time they touched in a nonviolent way—both god and man slid into their roles comfortably. Tony placed a palm against Loki’s cheek, almost not daring to believe this was real. Two years of letters and promises and one too brief meeting…

“It is strange,” Loki murmured into Tony’s cupped hand, voice low and intimate, “I can barely stand for my own mother to touch me, and yet…” he leaned against the warm pressure, eyes fluttering closed.

“I can stop,” Tony offered, but they both knew it was a lie—the man was flush against him and Loki could feel the pulse beating erratically in in the wrist on his chin. Loki laid his hands on Tony’s hips and pressed their pelvises together, enjoying the arousal that flashed across Tony’s face.

Two years, culminating into a meeting with Loki in Tony’s kitchen and Tony sore and hardly dressed after his shower from hell. It wasn’t exactly a fairy-tale romance.

But Tony could touch Loki without doubt and fear clawing the god’s belly—an enormous feat, considering the perdition he had suffered so recently. And Loki had soothed Tony’s nightmares with magic—he could not appear in the man’s dreams, not truly, but with his magic returned, the god had reached in and filled the silence with his whispers… he pulled Tony from the worst of his fears and shielded him.

So perhaps there was no stereotypical, corny first meeting with lovey-dovey eyes, but each had proved their devotion to the other in a thousand tiny ways.

Loki leaned in and pressed his lips to Tony’s more firmly. “I have craved this,” the god admitted in a throaty whisper.

Tony chortled at that and retorted, “Yeah, I figured. I got a year’s worth of filthy sex promised to me and I’m callin’ in the debt, Lo.”

“Indeed?” Loki murmured into Tony’s mouth, “I shall endeavour to repay you fully.” Raising a hand to Tony’s hair, he tipped the man’s head back and kissed him with hunger. It was an artless, clumsy thing—their teeth clicked, lips stuck, and their tongues occasionally bumped the wrong way, but it was not an immediate concern; they quickly and vigorously learned each other’s mouths and tells.

Tony pulled back just long enough to say, “I better show you to the bedroom, huh?”

Loki growled, forehead pressed to Tony’s tilted-up chin. He could see beads of sweat starting to gather in the hollow of Tony’s collarbone, and he was flooded with a desire to dip his tongue in and taste the salty tang—and he had never been one to deny himself.

“Ah, Loki!” Tony shuddered under the lapping tongue before gathering his thoughts just enough to demand, “Bedroom!”

“Lead the way,” Loki responded, voice dark with lust.

Tony tried to tug them along, but they couldn’t keep their hands off the other long enough to really make a concentrated effort. Their feet tangled, their torsos crashed together, and more than once one pushed the other against the wall to ravash. What should have been a fifteen second trip through the living room and down the hall easily took five minutes in their passion, and by the time the pair finally spilled onto the bed, Loki didn’t even bother banishing their clothes away—he just vaporized the offending garments.

Tony made a noise of protest that Loki cut off with a punishing kiss before trailing his mouth down the man’s neck.

“Mm, dammit, Loki, that was my fav-ah!-favorite pair of jeans, I’ve had em-mmmm-since… yes! Right there!”

Loki sank his teeth again into Tony’s lower rib and he shuddered in response. Loki took a moment to repeat the action just to savor the low moan that followed, then continued his quest to map every inch of Tony’s torso.

Groaning, Tony tangled his fingers in Loki’s hair and tried to push his head down, down…

“Feeling impatient?” Loki breathed in amusement.

“Two years,” Tony growled and pushed harder. “ _Two years!_ ”

Loki refrained from mentioning that his dry spell had lasted two  _centuries_ , but instead decided instead to punish Tony for his demands. He lowered his head and let his breath tease Tony’s cock, before suddenly switching paths and sucking a bruise onto the man’s thigh.

“ _Goddammit_ , Loki!” The words were slurred with wanting and Tony lifted his hips in desperation to catch Loki’s mouth. Loki just chuckled and forcibly parted Tony’s tensed legs, lifting them up and hooking them over his shoulders.

“Now, do you desire my mouth of your cock, or my finger in you?” Loki queried in a hoarse voice, smirking down at his gasping, groaning partner.

“Nngghh…”

“I didn’t quite catch that,” Loki teased, rubbing his fingers tantalizingly down Tony’s perineum.

“Fingers!” Tony choked out, and the god was more than happy to oblige, pressing one magically slicked digit into him. Loki took his time preparing Tony and relished each sweet moan that passed through the man’s lips.

After the third finger, Loki was reasonably sure Tony was ready for him—though he did consider drawing the foreplay out just a bit longer, but his hindbrain won out over his mischief. Tony was whimpering for his cock, and Loki was more than prepared to give it.

Embarrassingly, Tony came like a teenager on the first stroke as soon as Loki’s cockhead nudged his prostate—the playboy’s famous stamina simply was no match to a year of slow teasing. Loki didn’t fare much better with Tony’s tight heat clenched around him; he came not a minute of frantic thrusting later with a cry of Tony’s name on his lips and a bone-deep shudder running through his body.

Neither minded the short coupling—Loki was absolved and free, there was plenty of time later to spend hours in bed exploring the other’s body and memorizing the sensitive areas that elicited keening cries. For now, they had what they both truly wanted—and Loki fell onto the bed with a groan, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and pulled them together. Wish a wave of his hand, Loki cleaned the cum stuck on Tony’s belly. For a brief moment, they laid together, their limbs intertwined, and caught their breath.

“You know,” Tony murmured against Loki’s chest has their sweat began to cool, “You never did tell me what you did to Thor. All of the sudden he got super nervous and refused to look me in the eye, just kept begging me to talk to you about his ‘condition.’”

Tony’s voice dropped to imitate the low bass of Thor’s, “‘I know you are in contact with my brother! Tell him to remove this foul curse!’ what was that all about?”

Loki’s shoulders started to shake. “Ah! Yes. Tell me, were you aware that Thor is more than the God of Thunder?” Tony shook his head. “Indeed, he is also the God of Fertility…”

Tony raised his head and gaped at Loki, who could barely keep his face straight. “What did you do?”

Laughter colored Loki’s voice and a smug smirk broke out, “I may have cursed him so he finds his member flagging for all except the mate I chose for him.”

Tony stared in disbelief. “You rendered the God of Fertility impotent?”

Loki raised a finger. “For only so long as he does not couple with a nice mountain troll I met on my trails.”

“Oh, my god…” Tony couldn’t help but join in Loki’s revelry, their laughter bouncing off the walls and filling the room pleasantly.

“To completion. Both his and hers.” That smirk had become a full on grin and Loki’s white teeth glittered in the light.

“Let me guess,” Tony huffed through his mirth, “Troll orgasms are hard to come by?”

“Nigh on impossible.”

Tony tucked his head back onto Loki’s chest, trying to regain control of himself. “Remind me to never piss you off, Lo.”

Loki nuzzled his face into Tony’s hair and pressed a kiss to the tussled, wiry strands. “You may begin with referring to me by my full name. An extra syllable surely is not such a feat… Though, I’m sure I can imagine some way to help you remember.”

Tony just snorted and shook his head. He yawned and grumbled at the blue sky shining through the window. “We can’t be in bed all day,” Tony groused.

“I do not see why not,” Loki countered, “Eira and Ruby will amuse themselves outside, and I will personally disembowel any idiot stupid enough to attempt to drag you from my bed with threats to your precious Midgard.”

“Well,” Tony considered for a moment before shutting his eyes, snuggling close to Loki, and beginning to drift off. “Yeah, that sounds reasonable.”


End file.
